Authors

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Six-Word Stories
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Poem of the Week

What will we do without exile, and a long night that stares at the water?

Poem of the Week

My husband collects bruises, counts how many rise above the skin.

Poetry

I’m told that even during war, she took the time to put on lipstick.

Photography & Art

A collection from San Franciscan photographers Eszter and David.

Photography & Art

Eszter Marosszeky and David Matheson

Nonfiction

Despite seeing the other knockoffs, I hoped my dress would be perfect.

Fiction

My mother hoped moving would erase the affair with a married man.

Fiction

No one in Lagos slouches. Bravado pulsates through the room.

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Poetry

My daddy used to yodel. That’s not all. He'd wear plaid shorts & guinea Ts.

Poem of the Week

Here’s where memory, where waves of light washed over him.

Poem of the Week

We will use my entire bed and all my dishes, make dirty each chair.

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Fiction

Rain falls steadily, rattling down drainpipes and gurgling into gutters.

Story of the Week

There were so many tired, frayed words thick in the air around her.

Poem of the Week

He is not a man, but an empty shell, a creature who laughs to stop the shame.

Poem of the Week

You will be a broke blues man with only some story of how you were.

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Poetry

Regarding the affairs of our Father, your demon is Ennui.

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Masterpieces

I am going to relate to you the most lamentable love affair of my life.

Story of the Week

He ended every year in this manner, writing and dreaming.

Story of the Week

“Nothing does you so much harm as being in disgrace for lying.”

Story of the Week

I could not tell what visions were vanishing in the dying slave.

Poem of the Week

By the time I looked over my shoulder, the sun had already fallen.

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Poem of the Week

The leaves repeat my fall in choruses more ancient than my own.

Six-Word Stories

The joy and anguish of youth, captured in two six-word stories.

Story of the Week

Here’s a first, he said, some nutbag wants to dig the grave himself.

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Nonfiction

“Leaving for war, Hayes wept. He didn’t just cry; he wept...”

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Spring Contest Winners

The women wanted signs of regret, but she was straight shouldered.

Story of the Week

He knows what she’s seeking, and he knows she won’t find it.

Story of the Week

Ms. Marmelstein led with her eyelashes, curling out like scimitars.

Story of the Week

You might say I acted on instinct. All I wanted was to stop the screaming.

Poetry

This is the stupid math of loving another human being.

Poetry

I lie down and see you one bed over; therefore God exists.

Poem of the Week

Many times I’ve stood at the lip of this river and wanted to crawl in.

Poetry Contest Winners

Each Kardashian is completely capable of being alone at night.

Poem of the Week

I needed more. I worked her lips back and wedged my hand in.

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Poem of the Week

How do wheels and wind-trash weave us into wakefulness?

Winter Contest Winners

Ira and Ada are stepsiblings. Within a month they were sleeping together.

Story of the Week

She had instinct for seeing what she could make happen.

Story of the Week

Tanya jokes that she comes to the East Coast now only for funerals.

Fall Contest Winners

He would sneak into my room, we would have sex, he would sneak out.

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Interviews

One of the most important human capacities is compassion.

Poetry

My brother stealing all the lightbulbs, my parents live without light.

Poetry

I want you enough to gnash you into a silence made from pieces of silver.

Poem of the Week

He’s in the back of the cop car, hands in handcuffs, shaped like infinity.

Poem of the Week

The year we left the reservation a white boy gave me a trash bag.

Poem of the Week

What if Eve was an Indian & Adam was never kneaded from the earth.

Readings - Audio/Video

Ring, ring, ring at 2 a.m. means meth’s got my brother in the slammer again.

Story of the Week

No-Horse sucked his lips, imagined the taste of the white girls’ hips.

Poetry

Let’s walk down to the river, bless the paper boats and turn it all into wine.

Poem of the Week

Your hands along her spine. Her hips unfolding like a cotton napkin.

Narrative Outloud

A little music. An empty bottle of whiskey. It’s a little like cheating.

Narrative Outloud

A little music. An empty bottle of whiskey. It’s a little like cheating.

Poem of the Week

I was always being left behind in the mud, a bandage around my eyes.

Narrative Outloud

You can go from one town square
to another and never fall in love.

Narrative Outloud

We need the opportunity to dance with really exquisite strangers.

Poetry

You are home in your bed like a soft animal with really intense feelers.

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Poetry

Walking through the snow with her was enough, quiet enough.

Narrative Outloud

Our crowns are made of dead hair and get swept out with the trash.

Poetry

At night the voices on the patio sound like small darting birds.

Narrative Outloud

All down my street the new fathers beat the kingness out of the kings.

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Poem of the Week

Bear: You were a good ranger, walking carefully between the trees.

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Story of the Week

She knew Jim would be a terrible husband. They’d murder each other.

Fall Contest Winners

You know how good she has always been at hiding herself.

Fiction

Now all I was, all I had ever been, when it came down to it, was a tenant.

Nonfiction

Atomic bomb. How could those two words be said together?

Nonfiction

They do good things for us, the bats. But we do not want them there.

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Poem of the Week

How bright and eager they appear, how ready to get started.

Fiction

She heard the lowing of cattle, shouting, the crack of whips.

Classics

Who was responsible for my father not living up to expectations?

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Fiction

John-Michael kept his mouth open until saliva had pooled behind his teeth.

Graphic Stories

My mother taught me to rebel within the boundaries of acceptability.

Narrative By Hand

Liza Donnelly

Graphic Stories

I'll rid the world of bad things. But first, I need to get more coffee.

Narrative 10

Best part of the day? The part when I come up with an idea for a cartoon.

Poem of the Week

When I see buffaloes run I think of love—how it is held.

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Story of the Week

Can there have been something in my letter, that unlucky letter?

Story of the Week

I have not won yet, but I behave, I feel and think like a rich man.

Story of the Week

Why is a duel out of the question? Men are all cocks; they should fight.

Story of the Week

I instantly realised what losing would mean. My whole life was at stake.

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Story of the Week

1908. The puppet’s name is Sambo. Oh what a friendly boy he looks to be!

Story of the Week

Recently a man in my town took up residence on the football field.

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Story of the Week

He was nervous and ill at ease, but my bearing seemed to reassure him.

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Poetry

My baby was calling to me. But I was welded to the mountain.

N30B Winners

my baba sits in a midwest garage with the hood propped open.

Poetry

The stars begin to turn clockwise, freeing us of all consequences.

Poem of the Week

A dwarf is now crying, he sounds swollen but golden with malediction.

Poem of the Week

The portal light, on your face, now, a rose light on a sinking freighter.

Poetry

I’ve taken the pledge and made donations of blood to the world.

Poem of the Week

We were both up there smoking weed and axle grease, blinded.

Poem of the Week

A clumsy coyote descends an old hill of garbage. Death is visiting.

Poetry

I forgot to detail that the jumper leapt from beside the hanging Monet.

Story of the Week

Chess was a humiliation that hung over him like a leper’s bell.

Features

Truths don’t eclipse each other—they only complicate each other.

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Classics

Certainly the ushers who pass the baskets know me as a miser.

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Story of the Week

Cruelty is cruelty and you don’t ask why, you just hit first and hit hard.

Story of the Week

My girlfriend, Sweet Polly Purebred, left me for George of the Jungle.

Story of the Week

I was never nonchalant. I was more intense than Kirk Douglas.

Story of the Week

I keep my mother separate from my father. They seem fine with this.

Story of the Week

Her top lip lingered behind, pressed between his. They were soaked.

Poem of the Week

What would you say about the driver of the truck that killed you?

Poetry

We ate and then made love, the windows open to deafening twilight.

Poetry

Meghan Dunn

Poetry

Toe over toe we went, arms held out like tightrope walkers.

Poetry

Owen falls. Like a dummy. Like he’s dead even before he dies.

Poem of the Week

When he asks me if I’m ready, I don’t even know what he means.

Fiction

Despite cell phones, they seem connected only by smoke.

Story of the Week

She’ll grow into a beauty, but she needn’t contend with that yet.

Story of the Week

He touched her bruise more softly than an elevator button.

First & Second Looks
Story of the Week

Wishing he could change everything, knowing he can’t. That’s the blues.

Poem of the Week

Streetlights throw the blinds against the ceiling. It’s 7:00 p.m.

Narrative Outloud

As soon as her grandparents left, BLAM, the dance in her died.

Narrative Outloud

My first suicidal ideations occurred to me when I was ten, eleven, twelve.

Story of the Week

I loved hopping freight trains. It was cheap, dirty, and dangerous.